Switchblade Smiles
by Gray Doll
Summary: Everyone begins from somewhere. Even Red John. / DARK! My own twisted, RJ-backstory, because I was miserable for far too long with the lack of background. As I said, DARK.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Mentalist, of course. If I did, a lot of things would have gone differently...

**Notes:** I can't help but feel somehow disappointed by the lack of explanations regarding Red John. Personally, I couldn't care less about his identity – it wasn't the name I was looking forward to, but the person behind it. Well, we didn't get that. I'm hoping for a flashback or something in the future, but of course I know it will never happen and things will never get explained... But oh well. I simply couldn't resist, though, and I wrote a little something about RJ's back-story myself – this really _**isn't**_ what I would want to happen in the show, but the idea wouldn't leave my mind, so I wrote it... The title is borrowed from the namesake song by Kasabian. All names used have no relation to canon whatsoever.

This story is done in five parts.

**Warnings:** This is... weird. And not for children, that's for sure. There's abuse. Child abuse. There's violence. There's murder. There are some pretty morally questionable themes in this. So, honestly, (it pains me to say this) feel free to skip this if you're offended by such themes.

...I _still_ can't believe I wrote this.

* * *

**Switchblade Smiles**

**I.**

Mom had hidden the knives inside the kitchen drawers, and had told her children to go to their bedroom and not come back down until she told them to.

At first, Tom was puzzled. He tried to ask Mom about it, but her tone left no room for argument. In fact, she seemed a bit more nervous than usual - and then he understood.

Quickly, he nodded to his mother and sat down on the couch beside his sister, who had her arms crossed about her chest, a stubborn look on her flushed face.

"I don't _want_ to go to my room," she whined, slapping Tom's hand away when he tried to pull her up.

"Bella, honey, please listen to me," Mom said for what seemed like the dozenth time that night. "It won't be for too long, and you'll be with Tom, alright? You can play a board game-"

"But I want to watch TV," Bella insisted, tears welling in her big blue eyes. "You said I could!"

Mom drew a long breath. "If you go upstairs with Tom tonight, I promise you'll watch as much TV as you want tomorrow, okay?"

The little girl's eyes lit up at that, but she was still pouting. "You promise?"

Mom gave a wobbly smile. "I promise, darling," she said softly, crouching down next to her daughter and giving her a small kiss on top of her head. "Now go, alright?"

Tom promptly climbed off the couch, and his sister did the same. She put her small hand dutifully in his, and he smiled.

"We won't get bored," he told her. "I haven't used my new drawing set yet, you can be first."

Bella gaped at him. "Really?" she asked incredulously, a bright grin forming on her lips.

"Yep." As the two children headed off to the staircase, they heard their mother's voice calling out to them one last time.

"_Don't_ come back down until I tell you to!" she cried, and Tom glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Okay, Mom," he said, as somberly as a nine-year-old child could. He saw the brief relief that flashed across her eyes, and he prayed with all his might that Dad would be too drunk to do anything, that he would just slump onto the couch and fall asleep.

The two siblings had been drawing together for almost half an hour when they heard the front door open and then close with a loud thump. They both tensed, Bella's fingers stopping in midair before she could spread the paint across the white paper on the carpeted floor.

A part of Tom wanted to storm out of the bedroom and down the flight of stairs, but he remained still, ears stretched. He heard Dad's characteristic voice – loud and gruff and slurred, his words almost always incoherent. He hadn't heard that voice in weeks, but Tom would recognize it anywhere, even if whole years had passed since the last time he'd heard it.

Bella's face was anxious, her gaze alternating between her older brother's face and the bedroom door. Realizing that he was probably scaring her, Tom shifted slightly, grabbed a tube of red paint and handed it over to her.

"Here," he said, "you still haven't finished that princess you wanted to draw."

The girl took the tube but didn't open it, setting down on the carpet next to her instead. She fixed her gaze on Tom.

"I didn't know Dad was here," she whispered, fear evident in her barely audible voice.

Tom sighed and pushed the temperas and papers aside, letting her crawl next to him. "Hey, don't be scared," he said, ruffling her black hair. "We're fine up here, you know that."

Bella's lower lip trembled as she looked up at him. "But Mom-"

"Mom's going to be alright," Tom said firmly, although he didn't feel very confident about it. He wanted to go downstairs and check on her, make sure Dad wouldn't hurt her, but the memory of the last time he'd tried to do that was still fresh in his mind, and he decided it'd be better for everyone if he stayed here with Bella.

His sister didn't look convinced. "What if he comes up here?"

Tom squeezed her shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "He won't," he said.

"But how do you know?"

"I won't let him," he answered, knowing it was a big, blatant lie. But he was fairly sure Dad wouldn't come upstairs – and if he tried, he'd probably tumble down the stairs. Perhaps it was a good think that he was almost always drunk, after all.

They sat in silence for a while, curled up against each other, painting entirely forgotten. Then they heard a loud clatter, like the sound of glass breaking, and both children started.

Bella's eyes were fearful as she pulled her knees up to her chest. "Is Mom okay?" she asked timidly.

Tom slowly stood up, his gaze fixed on the door. He didn't answer, focusing entirely on the sounds coming from downstairs.

Next to him, Bella whimpered.

He walked over to the door and pulled it open, wending his head through the gap and looking out at the empty corridor. The eerie silence that seemed to swallow the entire house was broken by Dad's raised voice, then Mom's, and then there was another sound of something breaking.

Without thinking, Tom ran through the dark hallway and straight to the stairs. He heard Bella's hurried footfalls as she nervously followed him, but he didn't stop to tell her to get back inside the bedroom. He climbed down the flight of stairs as fast as he could and stormed into the kitchen were he knew his parents would be.

He stopped abruptly at the threshold, and his sister nearly bumped into him.

Mom was crouched on the floor, grasping at one of the counters, and there was blood running down the side of her face. Dad hovered above her, a broken bottle in his hand. Bella let out a shriek and tried to reach their mother but Tom held her back, wishing that Dad was too far gone to listen to them – but apparently, he wasn't.

At the sound of Bella's scream, he whipped around and stared at the two children, his eyes bloodshot and hazy.

Tom took an unconscious step back, trying to shield Bella with his own thin body. As discreetly as he could, he turned his face to the side and whispered to her, "Run, go upstairs."

But the girl was frozen, unable to make a single move. It all happened in a blur – Tom felt himself being yanked forwards, and he fell face first on the floor tiles. He heard his mother's pained moan from somewhere above him and he pushed himself up, only to see his father towering above his sister's shriveled form.

He looked around, frantically searching for something heavy he could use to throw at him, but found nothing. And then he remembered Mom grabbing the kitchen knives and shoving them inside the top drawer.

He was on his feet in an instant, opening all the drawers, one after another in a frenzy, until he found the right one.

The knife wasn't big – but it was sharp. It felt weird in his hand, not quite heavy but not light either. His fingers clutched the handle and he held it up, giving it only a second's study before he ran over to his father.

Bella's eyes widened at the sight, and when Tom shoved the knife in their father's back, she screamed.

Blood seeped from the wound and Dad cried out, more in surprise than in pain. He straightened up and reached behind his back, trying to grab at the offending object, but Tom had already yanked it out and was already shoving it back into the man's flesh. His gray shirt slowly turned black and he sank to his knees, groaning.

Bella was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks. Dad fell on his stomach, and made a sickening, gurgling sound before going completely still.

Panting, Tom let the knife slip from his grasp, wincing slightly at the clattering sound it made as it hit the floor. All he could see was blood – pooling on the polished tiles, around Dad's body, running down Mom's face, smeared across his hands, splattered on Bella's pink dress.

He stumbled backwards when Bella threw herself at him, burying her face in his neck, her small body wrecked by powerful sobs. The floor was slippery with blood and they almost toppled over.

Tom didn't know how long they'd been standing there before Bella pulled away and he walked over to his father's dead body. He'd seen dead bodies before, on the TV, and once at the cinema with his friends from school – but this was different, so, so different.

He sank down next to the unmoving body, into the crimson lake that had formed around it. He stared at it, his breathing slowly returning to normal, and he felt his sister sitting down next to him.

"Are they dead?"

Tom nodded faintly. Realization started to dawn on them, and she drew a shuddering breath.

"Will Mom come back?" she asked in a small voice, and Tom shook his head without meeting her eyes.

"She won't," he answered, and knew it to be true. "Maybe it's better now," he said, and Bella gave him a worried look.

"What do you mean?"

He sighed. "She wasn't happy. But she will be, now. She will be with all the angels, and she will be happy," he said confidently.

Bella sniffed. "And Dad?"

"Dad won't be with the angels," Tom answered, his voice oddly calm. "They won't let him in. He was a bad man."

Bella nodded solemnly, blinking her blue eyes. "And what about us?"

Tom finally turned his gaze to her. "We will be happy."

"How do you know?"

"I know. _I_'ll make us happy," Tom said, leaning over their father's dead body. "Here, look."

Bella watched, breathing heavily, as Tom reached out with his hand and dipped his fingers into the blood still dripping from the stab wound. Then he moved away a little, to a spot where the floor was still clean, and slowly draw a wide circle with his fingers.

Bella shifted closer to him and realized he was painting a smiling face. Like the ones they'd been drawing earlier, together in their bedroom.

"See?" he said, this time his voice a little louder. "We _will_ be happy."


	2. Chapter 2

**II.**

Aunt Margaret was very proud of Bella.

The girl was only ten years old, yet she was already showing sings of an exceptionally talented pianist. Their Aunt was wealthy enough and she had been more than happy to buy a piano when her niece had timidly requested one.

She had even attempted to get Tom to learn how to play as well – but try as he might, he just couldn't get it right. His fingers always seemed to tumble over themselves, and the noises the instrument made whenever he touched the keyboards sounded like a cat's screeching compared to his sister's elegant music.

He thought the piano lessons where terribly boring. He himself preferred painting, and believed he was rather good at it, but Aunt Margaret wouldn't hear a word about it. Painting, she always said, was a girls' hobby. Piano, on the other hand, had no gender.

Tom didn't believe her, and never disposed of his drawing kit – he kept it hidden under his bed and would only take it out at night, when everyone else was asleep. Sometimes, though, Bella would slip into his bedroom and he'd have to hide it again, because he knew she _hated_ drawing.

She had ever since their parents' deaths.

Tom still remembered that night, and he didn't think he would ever forget it. When the police had arrived, almost two whole days after the incident, the two children were still wearing their blood-stained clothes, and they were curled up together on the sofa, watching TV. It had only been a matter of days before their Aunt Margaret had agreed to take custody of them.

After a few months had passed, it had been decided that the kids were finally ready to return to school, and so they had. At first, things had been relatively normal, but as the years passed and they grew older, more and more complaints from Tom's teachers reached his Aunt's ears.

And this day was no different.

Fourteen-year old Tom was slumped on one of the plush couches of the living room, feet set up on the coffee table, twirling a small switchblade he'd won from a classmate between his fingers – the kid was such an idiot, who would have ever dared to think they could win a bet against him?

Bella was sitting on the large armchair across the room, as far away from him as possible, but she was gazing at him worriedly, her blue eyes wide and anxious. As Aunt Margaret stormed into the room, banging the door behind her, Tom gave a small shrug, as if to assure his sister that everything would turn out well in the end.

"I received a call from your principal today," his Aunt said icily, as a way of greeting. She was glaring at her nephew, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Will you tell me what happened?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "_Nothing_ happened," he sighed, throwing the blade in the air and catching it again right before it landed on his lap.

Eyes blazing, Aunt Margaret surged forward and snatched the offending object from his grasp, eliciting a huff from Tom.

"That's mine," he all but growled at her, but she promptly cast it aside.

"This is not a toy, Tom! You could get seriously injured-"

"I'm being careful, okay?" he snapped, his patience wearing thin. "When will you stop treating me like a child?"

"You _are_ a child!" Aunt Margaret closed her eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose and taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, she seemed considerably calmer, but Tom wasn't fooled – he could see she was ready to lash out at him at the slightest provocation.

"Tom," she started again, her voice oddly quiet. "Can you please explain to me what happened at school today?"

"I thought the principal had told you already," he said gruffly, and the woman sighed.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Tom? Physical altercation is not the way to solve our differences-"

"He provoked me, okay?" Tom sat forward on the couch, glaring up at his Aunt. Bella had gone stiff, watching the scene unfolding before her without making a sound. "It's not my fault that he's horrible at Math-"

"That's why you beat him up? Because he isn't as good at Math class as you are?" Aunt Margaret sounded positively incredulous.

"No, he said I always cheat, that's why I get high grades," Tom said, his voice rising. "I _never_ cheat! I'm just better than all the others, and they just won't admit it!"

His Aunt ran a hand over her face tiredly, her chest rising and falling with a deep sigh. "Tom, darling, a boy claiming that you cheated on a test isn't a reason to get into a fight with him."

"But he went and said so to everyone, and now they all think I'm stupid and I cheated!" Tom insisted, his cheeks flushed. "And I _didn't_! Was I supposed to let that prat talk like that about me all over the school?"

"Watch your language, Tom," Aunt Margaret said sharply, and he fell silent, though he was still fuming. She stared at him for a moment, a frown creasing her forehead, but eventually her anger seemed to dissipate. She walked over to him and sat down on the couch beside him, but he swatted her hand away when she tried to squeeze his arm.

"Listen, Tom," she said softly, but he didn't turn to look at her. "I understand that you felt angry that your classmate told lies about you, but fighting isn't the way to solve your problems."

He remained silent, eyes fixed on one of the paintings hanging on the wall across the room.

His Aunt sighed again. "You could have talked to him, you could have explained how what he did angered you and why it was wrong. And then you'd both be fine, and you wouldn't have to serve detention for a week."

"Yeah, sure," he scoffed, only realizing his mistake when he saw her expression turning from consoling to furious again. He chose his next words carefully. "Look, Aunt Margaret, I know I was wrong. And I'll apologize tomorrow. But I – I guess I was angry because I had studied hard for that test, I really had, and-"

"I know, I know Tom," she said gently, slowly rising from the couch. "I know you didn't really mean it. You're a good boy."

He smiled slightly, but inwardly he was scowling – he wasn't some sort of a trained puppy, to be spoken to like that!

When Aunt Margaret finally left and he was once again alone with Bella, the girl hesitantly stood up and approached him, biting her lower lip.

"You're not really sorry, are you?" she asked warily, and he laughed.

"No, I'm not," he replied, bending down to pick up his switchblade from where his Aunt had so carelessly thrown it. "Why should I be? I didn't do anything wrong."

"But you did." Bella's gaze flickered to the small knife. "You shouldn't have hit your friend."

"He's not my friend," Tom said flatly, idly watching the lamplight reflecting on the thin steel blade. "He's just an idiot who thought he could get away with talking crap about me."

Bella was quiet for a while, pouting slightly as if she were deep in thought. "I wouldn't have done that," she said eventually, her voice soft.

"Of course you wouldn't," Tom said as he carefully put the switchblade in his jeans pocket. "You're a girl."

She frowned. "And so what?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Girls are supposed to be quiet and pretty, not go around beating other girls up."

Bella huffed, obviously offended. "I could have done it if I wanted to, I just know that it's a bad thing to do!"

"Teaching someone to respect you isn't a bad thing to do," Tom countered. "Would you rather someone spread lies about you?"

"Well I wouldn't mind," Bella said. She folded her thin arms tightly about her chest and took a step forward. "You shouldn't mind either."

"Don't be silly," he said. "You know what, you just don't understand. Go back to playing your Bat or whatever his name is-"

"It's _Bach_," the girl snapped. "And I understand well enough. So what are you going to do the next time someone says something about you? Kill them?"

With that she stormed out of the living room, her black curls bouncing behind her. As he watched her leave, Tom absentmindedly touched the small blade in his pocket, feeling its now almost familiar weight.

_That wasn't such a bad idea_.


End file.
